


Going to the Chapel

by Northisnotup



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016 Time Stamp, Established Relationship, M/M, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 19:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup/pseuds/Northisnotup
Summary: There are four nearly identical napkins on the table, and Sid has been trying to choose between them for fifteen minutes.





	Going to the Chapel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eafay70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eafay70/gifts).



“Gonna marry me, Sid!” Geno yells over the music and the cheers, pushing his face into Sid’s champagne soaked neck and shaking with joy. Sid’s arms wrap tight around his shoulders, laughing and whooping along with the rest of the guys. 

They’re both drenched in sweat and alcohol, the cup being passed around and cameras everywhere. Geno’s been good, staying on the edges of the party and not outing them both to the sports world at large. But he stopped caring somewhere around half a bottle of champagne ago and cares even less when Sid pulls back enough to giggle, teasingly “Yeah? You finally gonna marry me?” 

He shrugs, leans in closer because he knows between the alcohol and the stupid grin hurting face his accent’s got to be nigh incomprehensible, even for Sid. “Love you so much. Win just for you, so marry me.”

Sid cracks up, just like he was supposed to, melting a bit in Geno’s arms. He winks, their blink-and-you-miss-it locker room shorthand for I love you before he turns to tug Kuni into a hug and accept more champagne. 

The music amps up, Philsy grabs him, and Geno throws his head back, hat coming loose, and howls, surrounded by team and family for the second biggest accomplishment of his life. 

\---

Their planner came highly recommended. Their planner took them on short notice. Their planner hasn’t made one suggestion that Sid hasn’t shot down.

There are four nearly identical napkins on the table, and Sid has been trying to choose between them for fifteen minutes. 

_I love this man_ , Geno reminds himself, as Sid picks up the one Geno had pointed out ten fucking minutes ago, purses his lips and puts it right back down. _I love this man and I’m going to marry him._

The problem is Sid being Sid. 

Well, no. The problem is that seven years ago Geno proposed by saying their next cup day would be their wedding day. So, really, the problem is that 23-year-old Geno was an arrogant fuck and 7-years-wiser Geno is paying the price. 

Andrea smiles, not at all phased by the time they’ve spent on napkins. “Going with the ideas you presented to me, something understated but classy, I have some examples of centerpieces here using calla lilies. They’re elegant and in high demand for weddings this season.” 

Sid’s mouth pinches, but his eyes stay on the assortment of white-beige-grey napkins. “For sure, yeah, only I think something more native to Nova Scotia might be nicer, you know? Source local.” 

Andrea’s eyelashes barely flicker, very professional. “Is there something in particular you would like, Mr. Crosby?” 

“Sid, and no, I’m sure whatever you pick will be fine.” Sid smiles, media-perfect, before going back to looking at all the choices they have to make today - napkins, centerpieces, theme choices, colour samples and thank you note fonts distrustfully. 

“...Of course. Let me just, make some calls,” she says tightly.

The problem is, Andrea seems to have a different idea of what the word ‘simple,’ which was the actual descriptor they gave her, means. Not ‘understated,’ simple. 

“Sid.” Geno rests his head in his hands, simultaneously wishing he wasn’t sober but also still hungover from the cup celebration. “Why you lying?” 

“I’m not!” 

“You are. Why not the lilies?” They’d been expensive, which probably meant they were very good flowers.

Sid wrinkles his nose. “They’re funeral flowers, G. We’re getting married.” 

Yes. They are. Through hell or high water, if Geno has to have a priest or justice or whatever stand in the back of a pickup truck in the Stanley Cup Parade, he is going to marry Sidney Crosby. 

“Doesn’t actually matter, Sid.” Geno laughs, only a little exasperated. Except for the florists, no one ever cares about the fucking centerpieces. “You, uh, we want to be married on your cup day, yeah? No time being picky.” 

“I’m not being picky,” Sid says and places three napkins in the _No_ pile. “I just.” He shrugs, leaning that little bit closer to rub their shoulders together. 

Geno picks up a napkin of his own, from Sid’s _Maybe_ pile, and tosses it out of consideration with a look that dares Sid to naysay him. “We live together, yeah?” 

“We still have two houses.” 

Geno lovingly does not say that Sid’s house is kept 1. for appearances, 2. because he spent so long renovating it he has to keep it or be chirped for all time, and 3. it functions more than adequately as a guest/club house. “Already, Mama calls you son-in-law.” 

Sid ducks his head, trying to hide his smile under the brim of his ragged old baseball cap. “My mom still says she’s keeping you if we ever break up.” 

“She want? All I’m have to do is leave you? Why you not tell me sooner, huh?” Geno says, taking a more-grey-than-brown napkin called ‘Maple Shadows’ and scowling at the texture. 

“This is goodbye, eh? Leaving me for my mother? Well, we had a good run, I guess. Ten years, not so bad.” Snorting, Sid relaxes the rest of the way, splaying his legs so they press together thigh-to-thigh. 

Geno takes a deep, careful breath, looking away from the smirk Sid is trying to hide. He’s not going to be goaded into bickering about this again. 

Nope. 

He grabs at a napkin that’s coloured eerily similar to Vegas gold that calls itself ‘Escapade’, holding it out for Sid’s consideration.

“I thought we weren’t going to use Pens’ colours, babe. We’d never hear the end of it?” Sid says, but he’s already kept the napkin in hand two times longer than any of the others, which is a ‘yes’ to anyone fluent in Sid-Speak. 

“And I think we counting from when we actually date, but anything’s possible, you know?” Geno snarks. Sid’s shoulder’s shake against his and he can’t help but shove a bit. Everyone thinks Geno’s the one who always starts fights, but Sid is such an instigator and his stupid ‘innocent’ smile gets him out of everything. 

“Come on, it was love at first sight, everyone says so.” 

Geno almost misses his next line, distracted by the scrap of 'Escapade' creating a brand new pile--maybe a Yes pile--but by now this banter is so familiar he answers by rote. “Sure, sure, Sidney Crosby say so, must be true. Sid knows everything.” 

“You admit we might as well call it ten, eh?” 

Yes! Sid pushes the _Maybe_ ’s into the _No_ ’s and sets them all aside to pull Andrea’s stack of theme and colour pictures forward. He sighs, quietly, and drags his teeth over his lower lip, tapping a finger at the blue and gold complementary colours Andrea promised would ‘stand out’ and the stars-and-constellations motif she suggested with it. 

Ughh. Geno plucks it from his grasp and throws it into the _No_ pile. They’re getting married in Sid’s backyard with a crowd of former and current hockey players in attendance, not having the wedding of a century. “Okay, Sidney Crosby knows everything, so why we’ve been here for hours, Sid?”

“Well, you know.” 

“No, Sid. Tell me. Why we let Andrea do all this work when you say no to everything, huh? Sid, you never have problem asking before. You want rink ice perfect, you, uh, dog?” 

“Hound.” 

“Yes, you hound it. You want special skate sharpening, special meals, special peanut butter, even special chips at store. Why not special wedding?” 

Sid sits back and crosses his arms, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I would have married you seven years ago, but we had to wait because you said we should get married at our second cup! You jinxed us for seven years and I’m the one who doesn’t want this to be special?” 

Fuck. 

Geno bites back his laughter because Sid is actually a little mad and laughing would be counterproductive to the goal, which is to marry him. “I know, I know, is all my fault, I just, this, uh, it’s not important. Formality. We already little bit married, you know? Napkins, flowers, who cares? We gonna get married.”

“It does matter. Weddings have flowers and napkins and seating arrangements, and-”

“No, wedding is you and me, say vows. Reception has those things, Sid.” Geno rolls his eyes, can’t help it now. Sid always makes things so complicated.

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t important!” Sid says, keeping his volume low and getting twice as forceful because of it. Like when they’re arguing but a parent is visiting so they can’t look like they’re arguing. “We can’t have people come from halfway around the world on short notice and feed them hotdogs, okay?” 

How something over a month away is ‘short notice’, Geno has no fucking clue. “Why? You more, uh, be happier if you grill. Why not grill?” 

“For over a hundred people?” Sid says flatly, making it sound like ‘that’s stupid,’ without saying it out loud. 

A noise of inarticulate frustration bubbles up, the well of patience Geno promised himself beginning to run dry. “So let papa grill, hire someone? Is simple, Sid. You already say cousins will bring things no matter what we say!” There’s some gratification in the way Sid winces at that, ceding the point with an annoyed look and nod. He’s got something like a hundred old friends, school mates, close and distant relatives all within an hours drive, and news spreads fast. 

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. I just. It feels weird to have our wedding be a fucking potluck, okay?” 

Not laughing. No laughing. Even if he got Sid to swear in public. “Is what you want,” he says instead and again, Sid winces. 

“I ask you what you want for wedding, you say simple. Nova Scotia, backyard, and cup. Doesn’t need being more than that, if that’s all you want, Sid.” Geno takes a chance, reaching out to tug at Sid’s wrists until he uncrosses his arms and they can tangle their fingers together. He will absolutely pull away when Andrea comes back, but for now, this is fine. 

“What about what you want? You love big, fancy parties,” Sid says, and it’s Geno’s turn to nod. Sid knows him well. 

“Me, I probably listen to all Andrea, you know? Big, loud, with glitter and, uh, there!” He points to the big, beautiful photographs of the Celtic resort, which 1. looks suitably fancy and 2. has the word ‘spa’ in the title, which is always a plus. “Great party, with big flowers and sushi and DJ, you know? But not good wedding.” He shrugs. “And, you know, maybe we not have time, we do my way. Already you’re up at six to take cup into town, you know?” 

Sid nods, bouncing his leg a little. Based on the temporary schedule Andrea made, guests are to start coming at four pm and the vows are said at five-thirty, reception starts at six. Which is all bound to get ripped apart and rearranged on the actual day of. “For sure, I know, it’s just. It’s our wedding. We waited this long to do it, I wanna do it right.” 

“Our wedding, Sid. Only has to be right to us. If we want grill and potluck, we have and it’s perfect. Okay?” 

Sid licks his lips, squeezes back when Geno presses his thumb against Sid’s palm like a heartbeat. Ba-dum, ba-dum. “Yeah, for sure.” He looks back at the lists and timetables and pulls a notepad out, beginning to scrawl out a list. “So, what do we actually need?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, which is rude because Geno always takes a second when it comes to reading the romanized alphabet. 

Chairs  
Caterer - appetizers/alcohol  
Tables - folding?  
Tablecloth - ? white? black?  
Napkins - ‘Escapade’ gold

Andrea returns five minutes later, the click of her heels against the floor heralding her. She has a small vase in her hands, filled with pretty blue-purple flowers and looks proud. “So sorry about the long wait, gentlemen, but what do we think of these? They’re irises, native to Nova Scotia. Oh, did you decide on a theme while I was gone?” 

Sid gives her another closed mouth, media-perfect smile. “They look great, just, we decided we don’t really need flowers. Outdoor wedding, you know? Who knows what the weather is going to be like.” 

Her smile falters for just a second and the vase clinks down with slightly more force than necessary. “Of course, Sid. That’s a… unique consideration. So, about the theme?”

Sid ducks his head, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. “Andrea, I want to thank you for all the work you put into this presentation, but I, uh, I don’t think your full services will be necessary. We’ve decided on something a little simpler than the whole package, you know?” 

He hands her their list, and she sighs quietly, the kind of sigh that could be mistaken for a deep breath.

“We’ll still pay your full fee, of course.” 

“Of course.” Her smile looks a little pained. “Can I still offer you gentlemen some cake samples?”

Sid sits a little straighter. “For sure, what do you suggest?” 

Oh god, they’re going to be in this office for another three hours. 

_I love this man_ , Geno reminds himself as Andrea’s smile returns in full force. _I love this man and I am going to give him the best wedding._

**Author's Note:**

> Eafay! I hope you enjoy this fic, it was extremely fun to write. I got to play with one of my favourite headcanons which is basically "Sid and G both want a Big White Wedding only they don't actually." Because you know, Sid is allergic to being in the spotlight more than he has to and Geno thinks 'expensive' means 'tasteful,' :P
> 
> Much love and thanks to everyone who gave me encouragement, specific shout outs to C and I for the beta!


End file.
